


With Eyes Closed

by AntivanCrafts



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, F/M, sweet tender romosmut, transfeminine!hawke, transfeminine!isabela
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 23:26:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8509720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntivanCrafts/pseuds/AntivanCrafts
Summary: Maeve Hawke navigates her relationships without aid of a light, but if she stumbles, they are always there to catch her.





	1. Chapter 1

Maeve laughed as she fell back on the wide hammock strung up in Isabela's room, full and throaty and warm as the mulled cider buzzing pleasantly on her tongue. She barely had to give a whisper of pressure on Isabela's hand before the pirate tumbled down into her lap, her eager smile delving into the shadowed underside of Maeve's chin, wringing forth a shuddering gasp, her clever fingers stilling on the catch to Isabela's choker as her head fell back, exposing the long line of her throat.

Shadows danced across it in their measure as Maeve swallowed shakily. She had done this dance before with Isabela, but memories were slow to fade, and it was a tentative hand that reached for Isabela next, one that Isabela met halfway. She laced a latticework with their fingers and brought their joined hand up to smooth down the flat planes of isabela's upper chest, still red where the corset and a few choice items had given the illusion of breasts. Maeve swallowed thickly, unable to meet Isabela's eyes for how close she was to weeping in this first moment, as she always was. Fortunately, Isabela was well familiar with Maeve's moods and did not give pause, the way she had their first time together but pressed on, and lucky it was for that, for Maeve's control held on but by a thread. 

Isabela slid calloused hands up the length of Maeve's bare legs, humming appreciatively as her fingers slid across hair and mottled scar tissue layered atop fawn colored skin shot through with paler streaks of vitiligo. She gripped at Maeve's knee, wringing out a long, low exhale that made Isabela smile against Maeve's skin, made her bear down with teeth and tongue until Maeve's hips leaped up to meet her, until Maeve mouthed a chasind cuss that had Isabela laughing.

Maeve lifted her hands from where they had settled at Isabela's hips and rose again to see to the necklace, getting waylaid once again on the way there by the heat of Isabela's interest pressing insistantly against her thumbs. This time it was Maeve's turn to smile, to lift her head to find deep eyes gone heavy lidded as Isabela arched at the first swipe of Maeve's fingers on their way up and up and up. Her fingers grazed the edge of Isabela's adams's apple as her choker fell away, thumb brushing her pulse point. it leaped beneath her fingers as Isabela drew in a breath for a laugh that came out shaky. Isabela tucked it into the crook of her smile, a motion that Maeve did her the courtesy of pretending not to notice even as Isabela parted Maeve's finery to slip a hand beneath. 

"Beautiful," Isabela murmured, drawing Maeve's gaze as surely as iron to a lodestone, colliding with an almost audible thud. 

"You don't have to-" She started, and Isabela hushed her with a kiss, caught at her mouth and breathd in all the words that should have been said long since, bearing them down until they were flush together. Maeve whimpered into the kiss, louder when Isabela broke it, kiss bruised lips parted on a soundless noise that Maeve felt where they were pressed together. 

"I do, because its true, and because-" Isabela cut herself off with a hiss between her teeth before going on, "because its"  _you_  "important, all right? I won't have you sitting there with that hangdog look on your face, not when I can make it-" Again, Isabela stalled.  _Better_  seemed to make light of the matter, and she averted her eyes. 

This time it was Maeve who caught at her and pulled her back. "Can't make anything of it with only one of us trying to make anything of it at all," she smiled, or tried to. pulled her lower lip into a thin line until Isabela caught at it with her teeth. "Madame!" She laughed. "Are you trying to seduce me?"

"Trying nothing." Isabela ground her palm against Maeve's nipple, earning her a gasp. "I'd be succeeding, if that's what I was about. I'm just trying to lift your head out of the puddle for a night, sweetness," she murmured, leaning in. Maeve arched to meet her, legs falling open without thought to admit Isabela's leg, thickly muscled and pressing at Maeve's growing arousal so that Maeve groaned and clutched at her. "Tell me what you want tonight," Isabela said, and for a moment Maeve wavered, uncertain whether to answer honestly or not, whether to laugh and say it was all a mistake a run back to Gamlen's, back to her empty bed a too many eyes too full of misunderstanding. 

Even if it was only pretend, sometimes she could almost convince herself it was real. 

Before she thought better of it she opened her mouth and asked Isabela to remind her of why she was here.

For a moment, Isabela recoiled, something like hurt washing over her face, and then it cleared. "Oh, sweetness," she said, hushed, and withdrew her hand from Maeve's chest to cup her cheek. "You didn't come here for sex, did you."

"I did!" Maeve protested weakly, ashamed to find herself on the verge of tears for no reason she could say. "I came here for-" For what? To forget her problems for a while? To forget the set to Isabela's mouth when Maeve had broached the subject of love, or what it had felt like to return home after that, to a house with too many voices, and not enough? How pathetic was that?

"Piss on that," Isabela shot back off of her expression, but without heat, jolting Maeve back to the present, and sighed, touched her knuckles beneath Maeve's chin and tipped her head up to meet isabela's gaze. "And nobody said we can't do both, did they? I'm multitalented, as we all know. How about we just. Have quiet for a while. Relearn each other."

"Isn't that still sex?" Maeve asked, and --it had to be her imagination-- gave Isabela pause for the briefest of moments before there came that ready smile.

"Not if that isn't want you want. You don't have to do anything in this room you aren't ready for, now or ever."

Maeve peered up at Isabela, wondering if that was true and felt a twinge of guilt for even thinking that, but there it was, just as her erection hadn't faded one bit since they had started talking, had in fact grown more insistant, if anything, and there was no small amount of relief in being able to push the immediacy of it to the back of her mind as she twined tentative fingers into the fall of Isabela's hair. She looked to Isabela at once for approval, shy as she'd been with her first, a goat herder outside the mountains, and relaxed when she found fluttering lashes waiting for her above a smile parted on a sigh. She spent some time dallying there like that, carding her hands through Isabela's curls, still wet from their shared bath, and found the beginnings of a pool of wamth that gathered down deep in her belly where happiness lurked, some days.

Like today.

Like a few months ago, when Isabela had taken Maeve's length into her mouth and sucked her dry.

Maeve reeled away from that thought and back to Isabela's lips, full and tilted just so to drink in Maeve's approval when Maeve caught her lips up with her own. The urge to part Isabela's lips with her tongue and delve between them to swallow the soft sounds of approval she made was near overwhelming, but Maeve set it aside and instead brought her other hand up to tip Isabela's head to the side, leaving Isabela kissing air for a moment as Maeve chased the liquid drip of candleight down her throat. 

"Do you even know what you do to me?" Maeve mouthed against the shadows gathered there, scarce a sound at all, and hummed, a low note that carried weight when Isabela made a questioning noise, tugging at Isabela's hair. "The words you say make me want to believe, but not as much as the ones you don't."

_"I'm sure there are many wonderful women just swooning as you pass by," she remembered Isabela saying, "like-" A strained smile as her eyes dipped down and away to the side, joining Maeve's stomach where it fell. "Aveline!"_

Maeve squeezed her eyes shut for the space of a breath and when she opened them again it was to watch Isabela's throat bob as she swallowed, hard. Without thought, Maeve leaned forward and caught at it with her teeth, drawing forth a whimpering cry that came straight from Isabela's toes and made Maeve wish she was someone else, someone better, someone who would know just what to say to still that dark cast to Isabela's laugh, the airy pass of hands that accompanied the fall. The fall of so, so much, but nothing so much as Maeve, and she had yet to hit bottom. 

The moment passed, if the feeling behind it didn't, and Maeve brought her hands skating down Isabela's back, pulling her closer. Isabela came with a purr, with a slow upward curl up her hands up Maeve's sides, with murmured approval that, even now, made Maeve's heart leap to hear. Seeking to smother it down, Maeve returned to Isabela's lips. "Tell me what to do," she near begged.

"Take it slow," Isabela told her. "Don't think of it as the fifth time, or the tenth. This is our first time, the first night,  _this_  is all that matters," she said, tangling her hand together with Maeve's and easing herself into a slow arch that made Maeve's breath get lost somewhere between her lungs and her tongue. "Right here. You. You matter. What do  _you_  want to do?"

Maeve hesitated for long moments, long enough Isabela's brows drew down and she opened her mouth, started to speak again, when Maeve applied pressure to their joined hands. Isabela's hands started to gently roam, guided by Maeve's, roaming across the bared strip of skin on Maeve's belly where her finery had come undone, stopping just short of actually toching herself. 

Isabela smiled aainst her mouth and whispered a phrase that Maeve didn't catch as she cupped her fingers, brushing the barest touch of their fingertips across Maeve's belly. The muscles beneath scarred skin jumped with her heart, leaping to attention as surely as the core of her, and for a moment, two, she couldn't remember why it was she had delayed. She remembered only as their hands closed about her cock, a soft suffusion of rememberance, warm as slipping into a bath -- _if we come, she'll leave_.

"Oh,  _fuck_ ," Maeve gasped into Isabela's mouth and rocked into her hand, mouthing curses that were gone from her mind as soon as she said them but that delighted Isabela. Later, Isabela would ask her what they meant, but now, in this moment, her cheeks darkened with twin spots of color that bloomed high and extended down across her bare chest, that made Maeve groan, helpless but to touch her, to taste her. She closed her mouth on the soft swell of Isabela's chubby belly, crazed with stretch marks that Maeve kissed and licked and praised, even as she had Isabela's laugh and dancing step from place to place to heart to home. 

Isabela gave her hand a twist that made Maeve clutch at her and shout. Dizzied, it took her a moment to come back to herself. When she did, Isabela was kissing her nipple, watching Maeve from beneath heavy lidded eyes that closed on a mirk as Isabela swirled her tongue and drew her nipple into her mouth. The chasind dialect of her childhood fell away from her completely, leaving a gaping wound in her throat that rushed to be filled just as heart had, did, and she threw her head back and cried out. Isabela's tongue flicked a rapid tattoo that wrought a trembling arc between her muscles that had Maeve's hands clutch nervelessly at Isabela, made her arch up into Isabela's mouth, begging wordlessly for something for which there was no name, not one beautiful enough to capture the look of intense concentration on Isabela's face, the way her hands clenched and released where they were braced on Maeve's shoulders.

Maeve's mouth fell open when Isabela pulled back and gently blew a puff of air over the peak of her nipple before moving to the other. Maeve's voice rose on a whine of protest. Isabela started to laugh, cut off with a squeak when Maeve brushed a scarred palm over the erection tenting Isabela's tunic.

They both broke off into laughter, Maeve's deep chuckle twining with Isabela's. Their eyes met for a the briefest moment, and then Maeve obeyed the urge that wanted to see that look in Isabela's eyes again, so she did it again, grasped her through the fabric and felt it, her, twitch in her hand just as Isabela's own hand closed again about Maeve.


	2. Chapter 2

Maeve Hawke settled back on the edge of the mound of blankets and pillows that made up Fenris’s bed, drawing in a breath between her teeth as she looked sidelong at Fenris, looking supremely unimpressed.

He shifted uneasily at her silence, more so when she asked sharply, “Practiced that, did you?” A sigh, then, as she slumped forward, the multitude of scars pockmarking her cheeks to slice across her mouth and up to the jagged edges of her broken nose creasing as her mouth worked around a word before she scrubbed a hand down her face. “You don’t have to work so hard. Just say what you want.”

Fenris faltered, uncertain. He’d asked Maeve here with grand intentions of finally telling her just what he had felt about her for years, but he hadn’t expected that calling Maeve beautiful would have this result, but. Perhaps he should have. What had his reaction been, after all, when someone called his tattoos beautiful? Out of- what?

He closed his eyes as the thought that Maeve thought him pitying her twisted his face in a way not dissimilar to how hers was now. “I want you,” he said simply, ducking his head with a small, shy smile as he cheeks darkened with spots of color high up on his cheeks, matched by the twitching ends of his ears. “Even like this. I want to show you.”

“Show me what?” She asked. The edge was gone from her voice, the rough edge, not softened against his, but meeting him as he lifted her hand by the tips of her fingers and pressed the lightest of kisses to her scarred knuckles as he fought for words. He had difficulty expressing himself at the best of times, and this was too important for misunderstanding.

“You are-” He sank back with a sigh and drew his lower lip in between his teeth. “Everything. All that I have never thought was meant for me, is in you. Is you. But. That is not all there is.”

After only a moment’s hesitation –not out of trepidation but to meet his eyes with a start, a growing realization– Maeve moved back and started to peel out of the soft cotton clothes she habitually wore beneath her underarmor. Fenris stopped her with a touch. Moved to replace her hands with his. He started with her bracers then moved his way down, baring her to his gaze.

Deep ruddy stripes of skin mottled what dark skin remained otherwise unmarked, remnants of the port wine birthmarks had once covered most of her body from the head down and now showed only as fleeting glimpses of color and hue. These, too, he lavished in praise. Pressed words he didn’t know how to say into every inch of her.

The spread of his hands spanned slender hips and the deep furrows left by sword and fire and time. Despite his every effort to bury it down there was a stirring in his groin, a spreading warmth that made him bury his face against her neck with a small, reedy noise that made Maeve’s breath catch. “Trying to tell me something?” She laughed breathlessly, twisting to lift her arm to brace behind his head as she ground back against him. Fenris pulled back, leaving her making a disappointed noise in the back of her throat.

Fenris’s deep laughter rumbled delightfully through where they were pressed together and straight to the core of her. He dipped his head and pressed a kiss to her shoulder, then another, higher, following the long line of her neck up to the square planes of her jaw. Maeve’s burn scars were smooth beneath his tongue, dipping to rougher, wind swept skin he delighted in drawing into his mouth.

Her pulse leaped beneath his tongue and teeth as she gave a sigh, arching back against him in a long wave. This time he pressed back, guiding her against him with a hand at her belly. Even through the layers of his clothes the pressure of Fenris’s hardness sent shivers through her, eking out a breathless, laughing smile. Maeve always laughed during sex, a heady sound that swam in his blood and made his lips curve against her skin.

Her free hand drifted down the shifting topography of muscle and scar, mountains and valleys broken by delicate tracings of gold tattoos to catch at his hand. She laced their fingers together, a chain that would have taken the lightest of pressure to break but that he bore down on, took a quiet joy in feeling, every bit as much as her touch seared him to the bone, made him gasp even before she guided herself back against him in a rolling wave. She sighed as she came, she purred, tossed her head back and laughed. He caught the sound in his mouth and drank it down, drank her down, plumbed her mouth with his tongue, felt the twist of her lips against his as she smiled and could not help his, could not seem to stop smiling, here in his bed, her bed, with the most beautiful women he had ever seen, whole and complete into herself.

“Fenris,” she murmured against his lips, panting, and that, too, he drank down, shuddering, and kissed her again, hungrily, trying to imprint his love and admiration and the boundless depths of his awe for this woman into every inch of her lips, her jaw, every inch of her he could reach. He drew their joined hands down to the dark thatch of hair between her legs. There they found and worked at the bundle of nerves that had her release her breath on a sigh.

Maeve was quiet, during such times, the only sounds she made muffled between the tight press of her lips or hand or her own stifling urges that she could not name, and his heart grew warm at even these small signs of how he affected her, just as she affected him. “You,” he whispered against the shell of her ear, “are all that I could ever look to find. Beautiful, in every way a woman can be. Your scars,” he said, his other hand traveling down the length of her flank and back up, marking each scar with a quiet joy that shook in his voice, “are beautiful, because they are yours. I have seen no greater beauty than that on your face when you smile.”

As she did now, lifting her mouth to capture his, and for a moment, while her laughter might have been silent, he was not the lesser for its absence. It lived in the happiness in her eyes, the warmth of calloused fingers settling on the back of his neck in a caress that went beyond whatever words they knew, and into those that had always been there, waiting for them.


End file.
